The Bites of the Termites

Being a bookworm solely is sufficient reason to hate the termites, at least for me. They eat my books, my notes, my papers and everything I have. Books particularly were my life-long personal properties. I owned nothing except some books in my whole life and they used to destroy it. That's why I say, they destroy everything. That's why I hate them much. I ever treated them as bitter enemies. We are Cain and Able while needless to say I stood for Able who was biblically in victim's side. On the face of it, they seemed to be victims. They never escaped alive once they appeared in my sight. I am generally no cruel though I became merciless to them. I even enjoyed killing them. But they were not likely to be extinct. I hope the world without termites. I questioned God why he or she created that nonsense little things even though he or she was idle. Then he or she answered nothing, as usual or always and I hated the termites even more. They probably were in the favour of God. In short, I am a bookworm who strongly hates the termites. I wrote down my slogan on my whiteboard. Hostile the termites!

I love my mother who was my bosom ally through my anti-termites crusade. She could kill much more enemies than I did. (In fact, I successfully killed only one or two termites in my whole life.) She once used petroleum campaign on the enemies and I was highly impressed her. It hit them as bad as the Holocaust. That was in my early childhood days and she became my heroine by then. The termites were scared to death her deadly chemical weapon. They were dizzy, vomited and ran hysterically on my antique bed and around the floor though no one could manage to escape. I was gratifying to witness the inferno in somehow sadist mood. I then could declare proudly my bed is termite free zone. I saluted my Mum and she noticed me I should keep my bed clean. But there were plenty of books on my bed. A few survivor termites secretly hid in various books, recruited in silent mode and waited patiently to make some guerrilla strikes to me. They were never completely eliminated from my stricken bed. I suffered one or two more revolution. Thankfully, my Mum always helped me with all her heart. In other cases, she chased a giant cockroach once and many aggressive grasshoppers in my bedding net and kicked them away for the sake of me. I had no slightest idea how to tackle the danger of those insects without her kind and bold interventions. For the time being, I no more can hope any protections from my Mum and quite embarrassed. I am currently living with my Dad. Here again, my Dad was cleaning the termites from the pile of newspapers. I never witnessed my Dad killing an animal and insects are no exception. He was just blowing them as if he is avoiding to make any harm to them. I felt sudden hatred wondering I never escaped from these termite warriors. My Dad then went out carrying that pile of newspapers and I found myself alone in the room. I closed my book and stood up. I bitterly smashed my historical enemies that were running aimlessly on the floor by my bare feet. I had no chemical weapon like my Mum though I now had strongest hatred to them. I indulged myself till they turned into pieces and I swept them away.


While I was taking a bath, I wondered about that white ants or God’s nonsense creatures. It became a nightmarish hatred of mine. I massacred them for the first time in my life and I felt some relief. But I still hate them in great intensity. They ate my books, my notes, my papers and everything I had. I still feel my whole body was tormented by many termite-bites. My beloved Mum protected against them and so did my Dad. These small devils are exact nuisance and the chronic pain in the neck. They were biting, eating and destroying me. My mind was fueling itself until I stopped my thoughts. I finished my bath and prepared to cook some rice, feeling awkward. At last, my Dad appeared in the door holding a pack of potatoes. For the first time in my life, I ironically happened to thank the termites for not eating the whole pile of the papers. My Dad gave me the potato pack so that I could fry for our dinner. I started the fire, chuckling.

Tazar (Moonlitpath)